


A dangerous bunny

by luemeldane



Series: The Tales Of The Bunny And The Fox [5]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Episode Related, Episode Review, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Missing Scene, Partners to Lovers, Partnership, Pre-Slash, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unshown Scene, bill's POV, confusing feelings, developing feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luemeldane/pseuds/luemeldane
Summary: “You make it sound personal. It’s our job. It’s important.” He spoke, making an extra effort to sound emotionally detached, even though he knew that he was lying through his teeth. Truth was that Holden had brought something into his life that had been missing for a long time. Both his ideas and his personality carried a fire and a passion that had set Bill’s still and dull life into motion again. In his 44 years of life, he couldn’t remember meeting someone like that or having his life thrown for a loop by a single individual. Not even his wife compared in that sense. And that was something he wasn’t willing to admit, he wasn’t willing to understand, and he wasn’t willing to let go either. It couldn’t get more personal than that.





	A dangerous bunny

**Author's Note:**

> So much for "the next one is going to be posted sooner". I'm sorry for the delay guys, so much shit happened at my work that I am amazed that I could actually finish this. The good thing is that the seeds of Bill's romantic interest for Holden that had been planted in the last one are showing off more clearly as they grow. I have included more 'unshown' scenes and I think you will find them very interesting. So much happened that the second half of the second half of the episode ended up with more than 8000 words. I can't believe that I've written so much already and covered only two episodes. I hope this is not getting tiresome for you guys. Let me know about it, please!

As they settled themselves in the room where they were going to interview Kemper, Bill chose his spot and posture carefully. He ended up sitting on a table that would give him the higher ground. From there, despite the man’s monstrous height, Bill would still be looking down on him. He would also be fully facing the criminal in a relaxed and overconfident manner, as if Big Ed was just any ordinary guy. Signs of tension and apprehension could make the situation go south, so the older agent had to make sure that everyone understood that he was the one in control there. After some mental preparation to sort of ‘get in the zone’ to pull it off, he finally heard the loud buzz of the door unlocking.

When Edmund finally walked in, Bill felt something strange twisting in his guts. He had worked in many cases through his life and dealt with innumerable criminals. Yet, he still couldn’t wrap his head around how normal most of them looked. The kind of crimes these men committed were so heinous that they didn’t seem to be the work of a regular human being. Sometimes the older agent thought that he would be less surprised if the responsible was a deformed, demoniac beast than he was when he came face to face with guys like Kemper. His size was the only thing that drew attention to him, but nothing in his outside appearance served as an indicator of the derangement within. If they looked like the monsters that they really were, it would be easy to spot, avoid and eventually put them in the cages where they belonged. But no, they looked just like any other man - your neighbor, the mailman, the baker, the doctor. They could be anyone and anyone could be them. It was probably one of the most unsettling things that Bill had learned in the job and living with that knowledge was one of the biggest challenges he had to face. But the years and the experience had hardened him and even if he never got rid of the astonishment, he had mastered the art of hiding it. That’s why he was able to stay impassive as the cold-blooded murderer they intended to interview walked towards them and calmly took his seat.

“So, you're the big boss, right?” When Kemper finally spoke, it sounded sarcastic, but not caustic. His voice had a curious intonation that made it sound clinical and calculating.

“Well, I established the Behavioral Science Unit some years ago, but Holden's come in with a lot of new ideas.” He answered casually, as if he hadn’t noticed the veiled jab at his position.

“So Holden's the intrepid rookie investigator?”

“Bill taught me everything I know about criminal behavior.” The boy promptly interjected and his casualness was most definitely not a deliberate strategy. He was actually comfortable there. Bill gritted his teeth, but didn’t let his own discomfort about his partner’s attitude show.

“Is that right? Well, let me ask you something, Bill. What do you think about Joseph Wambaugh?”

“He knows Joe. Right, Bill?” Holden cut in before the older agent could even open his mouth.

“Well, -!” He tried, only to be cut off again.

“Actually, he based a lot of that stuff on Bill.”

“No shit.” Well, the grizzled man had to hand it to Holden, Kemper seemed genuinely impressed at that.

“Uh-huh.”

“Not the, uh, stories, but the psychological insights and the vernacular. Yeah.”

“That is fascinating. I sure would love to pick your brain sometime.”

“Well, that's another life sentence right there.” How Bill could find it in himself to make jokes about this situation was way beyond his own grasp, but it fell easily from his lips. Actually, the fact that there was a real possibility behind the playfulness seemed to make it more fun in a very cynical way. Kemper’s face opened up with a deeply amused smile.

“Maybe you could, uh talk about your background a little bit with Bill.” Holden asked, showing some perfect timing assessment. After the ice between the senior agent and the brutal killer was broken and a vague sense of trust was established, it was the right moment to ask for information without turning the informal chat directly into an interrogation session. Bill knew that all too well, it was the same thing he had done the first time he had spoken to the boy. He wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or disturbed by the realization.

They didn’t have to ask twice to get what they wanted. Kemper was a very easy interviewee. He promptly began to tell his story with a level of detachment that surprised even Bill, despite his vast experience in the criminal world. The narrative was so leveled that it was almost like the man was describing someone else’s experiences instead of something he had lived himself. But as he finally got to the point where he killed his mother, something changed drastically in his voice and eyes.

“So I got a claw hammer and I beat her to death. Then I cut her head off. And I humiliated her. And I said: ‘There. Now you've had sex.’ If there's one thing I know, it's this - a mother should not scorn her own son. If a woman humiliates her little boy, he will become hostile, and violent, and debased. Period.” The change was not tangible - his voice hadn’t wavered and he hadn’t averted his eyes. Still, they didn’t seem emotionless and distant anymore. Quite the contrary, they carried a hollowness that was a perfect reflexion of the man’s interior - of the lack of humanity in his soul. Finally, as he described the matricide he committed, the madness within Edmund Kemper was suddenly as clear as a day.

 

\---x---

 

“I think we need to talk.” Bill finally said, after some fierce internal debate over the matter.

“Now do you see?” Holden asked quickly, unable to hold back on his eagerness not only to be right, but also to be recognized as such.

“I need to speak to Shepard. Tell him what's going on.” He continued, scratching his face in an anxious gesture and simply ignoring the intervention, entirely too tired to be bothered by Holden’s occasional childishness.

“It's too early.” The boy all but blurted.

“The longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be.” The senior agent explained patiently. Even if he had never been in this exact position before, he was well acquainted with how the system worked. Holden was still too green to see the bigger picture.

“We'll be drowned in red tape.” The affirmation sounded faintly like a plea.

“And there's a reason for that. The FBI is a glacial bureaucracy, but it's highly effective.” And that was exactly his point.

“Kemper's in lockdown, what's he gonna do?” Holden insisted, showing his naivety even more clearly. The greatest weapon this kind of men had, despite how dangerous they were on the physical sense, was an extreme dexterity with words and an accurate understanding of other people’s thought patterns that allowed them to use it at the right time and in the right way. To think that someone as intelligent as Kemper couldn’t do any damage just because his locomotion ability was severely restrained was borderline stupid.

“Kemper is a gigantic blabbermouth. He's friends with all the prison guards. A federal agent is meeting with him, you think that hasn't reached the warden?” He asked, taking a long drag from his cigarette, not able to conceal his exasperation about having to clarify something so obvious.

“A couple of months, that's all I need.” The younger agent outright begged, looking intently at his superior.

“No.” He answered in a tone that left no room for discussion. “Because if we get censored, we're off work two weeks minimum, no appeal. And you can kiss goodbye to the Gonzales case. They'll never catch that guy.” He continued, finding himself a little bit surprised about how bad that prospection made him feel. The argument seemed to resonate with Holden - finally - and the boy quietly retreated to his inner world, where he stayed in reflexion for the rest of the flight.

 

\---x---

 

“Did you tell a detective in Sacramento you would intercede with the district attorney on behalf of the FBI?” Sheppard questioned rhetorically and there was a sharp edge to his voice that spoke of trouble. Prudentially, Bill kept his eyes glued to the ground. “Some DA called me and asked why I had two agents in Sacramento. ‘Two goons’, his exact words.” Well, make that a lot of trouble.

“It's a strange case. The locals were struggling. We were trying to figure a way forward.” Holden began to explain and his voice was as steady as ever, but the look he shot at the older agent was one of uncertainty, as if he was asking for reassurance or maybe help.

“What were you thinking?” Shepard raised his voice, not even trying to conceal his anger.

“At the time, we deemed this of great urgency.” Bill reasoned with a serious voice, hoping that rationalizing it would serve to appease their boss.

“The circumstances were unusual.” Holden added, helpfully.

“Assault and battery? Since when does the FBI consult on that? Not even homicide.” Their boss continued, more condescending than angry now.

“Unless you count the dog.” The boy interjected, looking down with an expression of sadness so obviously faked that Bill couldn’t even manage to evoke an emotion to go with his stare as he turned to look at him, ending up with a completely blank expression.

“Bill, the past three years I've heard you complain about how overworked you are with the Road School. I gave you your assistant, and this is how you choose to spend your time? I trust you understand my position on this. Is there anything else you want to tell me?” As the words flew out of Shepard’s mouth, Bill hadn’t even needed to look at Holden to sense the hurt on the eyes that had turned to look pointedly at him. He knew how bad it made the boy feel when people thought he was merely an assistant, someone to help with the heavy lifting instead of a valuable member of the team and of the FBI in general.

The older agent pursed his lips, feeling a little sorry for his partner. Holden was so much more than an assistant, he could admit that now, and he actually found himself feeling a bit annoyed at their boss for demeaning the boy like that. But he also knew that it would be fruitless to pick an even bigger fight with the man over that, so he could only lift his hands helplessly, as if he had something very important to say, but came out short of words to do so. There was no way he could mention Kemper after the scolding they had just received. By the corner of his eyes, he could see the kid shaking his head just as helplessly, indicating that he was onboard with the chosen course of action.

No more words were exchanged until they left the premises.

 

\---x---

 

“Unless you count the dog?” Bill barked, both exasperated and amused after he gulped a respectable amount of the beer that had been served to him in the usual ‘FBI guys’ bar next to the Academy. They hadn’t talked much to reach an agreement about heading out for a drink. After all the tension of the last few days, it was an undeniable fact that they both needed not only some alcohol on their system, but also some light and friendly conversation so they could go home looking like human beings and not the big balls of tensed muscles and psychological stress they had been as they left their boss’ office.

“I actually felt bad for the dog, okay?” Holden chuckled, looking down at the glass sitting in front of him over the counter. The smile that bent his lips was made of a strange mix of sheepishness and mischievousness and it suited his face impressively well. It made him look younger - or better yet, look his age and not some old man stuck in a 29yo body. It was rare to see it, but when the boy was stripped down of the seriousness he wore like a suit, he was very expressive and… ordinary, in a good way. In a very human way.

“Yeah, I hear you.” Bill laughed off, but it was true actually. He had a very well disguised soft spot for animals in general. He took another sip of his beverage and the sensation of it going down his throat felt much like a blessing.

“But…” Holden began, straightening himself up a little. He hadn’t gone back to his stern work-related mannerisms, but he suddenly changed to a somewhat solemn demeanor as he spoke. “Thank you, uh, for not mentioning Kemper.” He said earnestly and looked directly at Bill’s face. His mouth hanged opened for a second, indicating that he was not finished, but was most likely debating over telling or not telling whatever else was on his mind. The part of his brain that was pushing for the ‘not telling’ seemed to have won and he finally clicked his jaw shut.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to, but there was no way I could have added that to the pile of shit he was lecturing us about. You saw how furious he was because we offered a little help in Sacramento. What do you think that would happen if we casually mentioned that we were interviewing the Co-Ed Killer behind his back?” The older man said and there was no poise in his voice. He was just stating the facts as they were.

“I.” Holden interrupted sharply. “I was interviewing him.” He completed with fierce determination on his voice. “You just went in the last one because I was annoying the hell out of you with my insistence and there is no need for you to share the blame over this. Whatever happens, it’s on me. You were against the idea from the beginning!” The younger agent spoke so quickly that he almost stumbled over the words, eyebrows lifting up apprehensively. He must have finally understood how serious what he - they - had done was and the possible sour implications that could be coming their way. And he was feeling guilty over dragging Bill along, the brat.

“Are you done with your little display of grandeur?” The grizzled man asked shortly, with a cold voice. He found himself unnerved by the surge of altruism suddenly taking over the younger man, when up to that point he hadn’t been anything but selfish, giving no seconds thoughts to anything or anyone besides himself and his yearnings. The boy visibly deflated, not expecting such a reaction when he thought he was doing the right thing. “Listen to me, Holden.” Bill began, tone shifting to one more serious than cold. “I’m not under your command, either professionally or personally. You didn’t take me by the hand and dragged me to the penitentiary in Vacaville. You didn’t point a gun at my head to make me drive you there. You didn’t make any threats to my beloved ones to keep me from calling Shepard and telling him everything. Those were all conscious choices that I’ve made. Unlike you, I actually had the authority to call the whole thing off if I wanted to, and I didn’t. I even got involved in the end, again, by my own free will. I find outraging, offensive even, that you think that I am the kind of man that will bail out of my share of the responsibility to save my skin and let a friend take the fall in my place.” He finished, inhaling deeply to both regain his breath after speaking so much at once and to appease the irritation that suddenly overwhelmed him.

“Bill -, what? No! I mean…” Holden gaped, eyebrows in his hairline due to his surprise at the older man’s outburst. “That’s not what I think at all!” He said a little bit too loud, voice both defensive and apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s fair that this spills on you too when you were just being nice and helping me out despite disagreeing with my ideas.” He continued, voice going very soft.

“Is that what you think that happened?” Bill found himself asking and he was taken aback by his own words and by how deeply meaningful they sounded. Especially considering that he himself didn’t know what he meant by that question. But the way Holden was speaking about their endeavors and the relationship they built over the last weeks was making it sound shallow, vulgar even, and it irked him up unreasonably. It was undignifying to whatever it was that was really going on between them. Bill was not just helping a rookie out of the goodness of his heart…

“So why did you do it?” The boy asked simply and his voice was barely a whisper. Their eyes seemed to be locked to each other, because as much as Bill wanted to look anywhere else, he found himself unable to do so. Suddenly, he became painfully aware of how close they were standing in the mildly crowded bar. Somehow during the course of their conversation, they had fully turned towards each other, both with one arm supporting their bodies as they leaned sideways against the counter, and there was no more than a few inches separating them. “Why did you let me go through with it? Why did you help me in the end?” Holden continued, merciless.

“Because I believe in you.” Bill, again, found himself saying out of some kind of honesty he thought he didn’t have in him anymore. “I believe in your ideas and I think you might be right about doing what you are doing.” It was Holden’s turn to inhale sharply and exhale heavily under Bill’s intense stare and the weight of his words. Of all the things he thought the older man could have said, that was probably on the bottom of the list. His expression was so dumbfounded that it would be a good guess to say that the boy had never heard such words before.

Again, the younger couldn't do anything but gape helplessly. This was such a huge moment for them and the admission Bill had just made was so massive that no words seemed to fit. Saying ‘thank you’ probably wouldn’t even begin to cover the true length of Holden’s gratitude. But the way his expression softened after a while and a tiny, almost shy smile made the corners of his lips quirk up discretely, said everything that had to be said about his feelings at the moment. There was a mix of gratitude, relief, happiness and fondness in his eyes as he held their shared stare with renewed determination.

For some time - that neither of them would be able to measure if ever asked - they just stood there, quietly looking at each other. Words suddenly seemed unnecessary, no more than a disposable extravagancy really. At some point, they turned back to their respective beverages and tentatively exchanged some sentences, but the complicity of their silence was so comforting and so right that they soon fell back to that intimate quietude, repeating the dynamic until it got late enough that they just had to go their separate ways. Somehow, it was harder than it should be.

 

\---x---

 

Bill took a long drag from his cigarette as he stared at the general direction of the horizon line. He suspected he was looking as depressing as he felt - a big old man sitting alone in his own porch at such an early hour of the morning, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He couldn’t help it, after he left the bar and after the conversation he had with Holden, he came home hoping - dreaming really - that he would find some kind of extension of the good time he was having. But instead of peace and love, he was received with a cascade of far too many angry words. His wife was angry with him, with their child (even if she wouldn’t admit it), with life in general and with everything and nothing all at once. This routine was not new, not by a long shot, and for a moment he wondered why he had expected something different that night. Actually, that had been going on for so long that Bill could barely remember the times when things were different.

It was not that he didn’t get why she was so upset lately. He understood her reasons and felt adequately guilty for most of them. The real problem was that he had no idea about how to fix it without ending up with a relationship in which the leading emotion was resentment. If he was very honest with himself, he would admit that he had wondered far too many times if there was salvation for them at all. Most of the time it felt like they had worn each other so thin that there was no turning back. He couldn’t give what she wished for without abandoning things that were essentially part of who he was and she couldn’t do it either.

In the end, the time he spent at home was the main reason for his stress instead of the refugee from the madness and savagery of the world it should have been. And if touring all over the country to deal with all sorts of crazy things and crazy people became preferable than dealing with his own family, what the hell did that say about his life?

He was still lost in his inner turmoil (mid-life crisis, maybe?) when he heard the sound of an engine approaching. It struck him as odd because not too many people drove around that area so early, but when he saw the familiar light blue Chevy Nova, he had to actually squint and stand up to take a very good look at it, because there was no way… Except that there was, and seemingly out of nowhere, the one and only Holden Ford was parking his car in front of Bill’s house.

Moving more slowly than usual, still not quite sure if he was seeing things right, Bill grabbed his suitcase from the floor and began to walk towards the vehicle warily. As he did so, he felt a strange urge to look around and check if any of his prying neighbors were watching. Something felt wrong about having Holden around his home and he didn’t have the faintest idea why. Of course, if he would ever allow himself to make such a comparison, Bill would reach the conclusion that he was acting as if his mistress had just shown up. He stopped at a safe distance, one that would allow them to communicate without getting too close. He could see the boy inside, especially as he lowered himself to be able to look at the older man through the passenger window.

“Hi.” He said awkwardly, much like in the way he would talk to a stranger. Well, to a strange and suspicious figure wandering around the neighborhood, that is.

“Hi.” Holden, in turn, was very assertive from the start, eyebrows already raised. He seemed faintly aware of how strange the fact that he was there was. Bill checked their surroundings again, just for good measure, and took a few more steps forward. He could feel how rigid his body had become and how his chest inflated unwittingly, making him sort of bounce as he walked - it was so strange that it might have been funny in any other occasion.

“How do you know where I live?” He asked, caution still evident in his voice.

“Personnel…“ He paused and looked away. “... gave me your address.” The last part of the answer was said quickly and kind of dismissively. It was clear that the boy knew just how bad that sounded and hoped that speeding through that bit of conversation would keep the older man from getting angry. It didn’t, though, because Bill suddenly straightened himself up in a clear sign of outrage. Really, it shouldn’t be so easy to get information about FBI Agents, even if you were part of the Bureau as well. More certain now, probably due to the irritation starting to fill him up, he entered the car. He had barely made it to the passenger seat when he looked at the other man and he was turning to fully face him in a very Holden-eske manner.

“Let's go back to Shepard. Tell him about Kemper, tell him what we've been doing.” The boy wasted no time going in circles over that matter. But despite all of the straightforwardness, his eyes were widened in a way that showed some great amount of uncertainty lurking behind the determination of the words.

“You think he'll listen now?” Bill asked just as objectively, not able to wrap his head around the possible reasons for the sudden change of heart.

“Let's make it official.” Holden stated earnestly and Bill could have laughed at the choice of words. He had half a mind to ask if Holden was proposing to him, but the boy was so serious about this that the grizzled man didn’t have the heart to deflect the subject with his questionable sense of humor.

“You don't want to wait till Sacramento blows over?” He asked again, because the younger agent’s logic was looking a little bit flawed there.

“No, I want to go back to Sacramento and fix it.” He explained honestly and oh... Of course. That reason seemed befitting. Bill’s lips pursed automatically and he turned his head to the opposite direction, already anticipating all the headaches about to come. “If we fix it, Shepard might give us what we want. He's not stupid. He'll have to listen.” He finished with a reassuring voice.

 

\---x---

 

“Are you out of your fucking minds?! You interviewed Edmund Kemper?” Well, Bill had to agree with Holden over the fact that Shepard had no choice about listening, but he sure didn’t have to like it. His voice was tripping over the line of ‘speaking’ and going into ‘screaming’ already.

“Not so much interviewed. More like a conversation.” Bill tried to explain, even if he knew that it was just as bad anyway.

“He said interesting things that turned out to be really useful.” Holden added and the older agent congratulated the boy mentally for the choice of words. ‘Useful’ was a good word to use in this situation, made what they did sound a little bit more rational and solid than it really was.

“What the fuck?” Shepard didn’t seem convinced though, voice dripping with disbelief.

“I just had this idea…-” The boy started only to be cut off sharply.

“I don't want to hear your ideas, Holden. I'm sick to death of your ideas. It is not our job to commiserate with these people. It is our job to electrocute them. How long has this been going on?” Shepard asked, voice angry and commanding at once.

“Just when we were in Sacramento.” The younger agent answered promptly.

“Sir the conversations with Kemper shed light on things we've been exploring in the unit.” Bill completed, truthfully. He felt a lot like Holden, back when the boy was trying to convince him about all of this.

“There's a correlation with what we're finding at crime scenes. It proves that we're on track.” The kid continued.

“Proof the Federal Bureau of Investigation is on track after all these years? Well, golly, what a relief. I am so pleased for us.” Shepard interjected with so much sarcasm and arrogance that it made Bill’s skin crawl. He had spent so much time with Holden recently that he had almost forgotten how hard it was to deal with this kind of stuck up bastards of the Bureau.

“We're pleased too…” The boy agreed faintly.

“Don't smart-mouth me, Holden!” Shepard downright screamed this time and Bill had to close his eyes in resignation. He wanted to tell their boss that Holden was actually being honest and that that was just the way the boy was - not very good at reading the subtle nuances of the situation and understanding that what was being said was not what was being meant by the words - but he knew it would be useless, so he just kept his mouth shut. “You fucked up the Gonzales situation, pissed off the Sacramento DA, and you've been interviewing lifers in the state penitentiary.” He continued and the only thing Bill could do was turn sympathetic eyes at his partner, who was beginning to look a little bit desperate and lost as to what he could do to convince the man currently giving them such a furious scolding.

“Sir, the insights during these visits may help us identify the person responsible for the attacks in Sacramento and prevent others.” He tried, speaking so quickly that both his anxiety in general and his irritation at the backwardness of their boss flashed brightly.

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong. Here's what it is. Burn your notes. Don't speak to me about this anymore. Don't put it in any reports. You're done.” It was to no avail, clearly, because there was no room for discussion behind Shepard’s words.

“Excuse me, sir.” Unable to hold himself back, Holden’s own angry slipped through his lips along with the words, making his voice rise to a tone far beyond inappropriate to address a superior. “I truly believe there is a vein here that needs to be mined.”

“Okay, kiddo. You're looking down the barrel. Three whole bags: Censure, suspension, transfer.” As expected, Shepard wouldn’t take the boy’s momentary bolt of insubordination lightly. His voice was so sharp that Bill almost believed that they could’ve opened real cuts over the younger’s body.

Holden seemed to have been petrified by the dire ultimatum and just stood there with his mouth hanging open. Bill felt a wave of pity wash over him and couldn’t keep a heavy sigh from leaving his mouth. As the sound of Shepard’s office door banging loudly reached their ears, the boy turned around to face his senior almost in slow motion. His eyes were so hollow and lifeless when they connected with Bill’s that it made the older’s heart ache at the sight. Before he could stop himself, before he could even think once (let alone twice) about what he was doing, Agent Tech’s feet were moving and he was strutting past Shepard’s secretary, excusing himself and barging into the man’s office. All the while, he was hyper-aware of the boy’s confused eyes following his unexpected movements.

“Pardon me. Sir, permit me to speak. I've been doing this shit for seven years. I trained Holden because he was transferred to my department. He knows his criminal psychology. He's done his homework, worked his butt off, and now I think he's onto something.” He blurted out at once, voice coming out far more aggressive than he had planned to and than he thought he had the guts to use when talking to someone of higher ranking.

In the back of his mind, he knew that what he was doing was not only reckless, but downright stupid. He was risking his position and whatever perspective of future career he had; he was risking his reputation; hell, he was actually risking his job by confronting Shepard like that! But for some reason, the idea of Holden’s refreshing and youthful spirit being killed off by this ignorant and supercilious bastards made him sick. So did the idea of that damn precious flame burning within the boy being quashed by the rigidness of the system. And most of all, the idea of Holden not being his partner anymore and being sent off to only God knows what corner of the country, far away from Bill, severing the odd bond that had been built between them... It was not something that he could just stand back and watch idly as it happened.

Dumbstruck by Bill’s unexpected (out of character, really) lash out, the only thing Shepard could do while the man talked was make some hesitant and helpless gestures meant to stop the flow of dangerous words coming from a valuable subordinate’s mouth. To his advantage, Bill had the fact that his boss actually respected him and his experience both in the military and in the Bureau. He didn’t treat him with the same contempt as he treated the annoying rookie Agent Ford and that might be his only salvation from the hole he buried himself into by taking the boy’s side so assertively.

“Onto what? He made friends with the Coed Killer.” Shepard asked, finally finding his voice.

“If this is going to work, we need to talk to more subjects.” He stated and the resolution in his voice actually took even himself by surprise. It’s true that he had recognized that Holden might be right about his theories, but he hadn’t realized that he was so deeply invested in them too. Somehow, thinking about dropping everything off and going back to his dull routine felt like retroceding to a less evolved point of his life.

“More? No! What's next, Charles Manson? When's he booked for?” Going against Bill, Shepard’s couldn’t maintain the self-important attitude from just a few minutes before. His voice took a strident tone and came across suspiciously like childishness

“We were thinking June.” Holden said, coming out of his hiding spot behind the threshold of the open door. Bill almost laughed. Make that two children.

“I think it's right. We need to use whatever resources-” He insisted. Now he understood the kid’s feelings about wanting to make someone see something that he thought was simply obvious.

“Resource, my ass! What's the matter, bored with golf?” His superior voice regained it’s steadiness as he aimed for a personal blow, reminding Bill about just how ordinary (in the bad sense) was the man that he had become in the last few years.

“California jails are full of thrill killers and lust murderers.” The boy intervened, exasperation clear in his voice and hand gestures.

“And we put them there, that's our job!” Shepard shouted, clearly losing his control over the situation.

“Dying and rotting on the vine.” Holden lamented and if he had done it a few days ago, Bill would have taken the phrase onto its literality and, consequently, would have been outraged by it. Now, he understood what the kid meant and actually agreed.

“Cry me a river, Holden. All the wasted potential.” He said, incredulity feeling his voice.

“It is wasted potential, sir! It is because we could be using these people!” The younger objected, accurately detecting the sarcasm and using it to his advantage, to his partner’s surprise. Holden usually wasn’t very in tune with sarcasm and irony.

“Using how?” Shepard asked and it sounded a little bit genuine. Well, dreaming was for free.

“Their knowledge and insight.” Agent Ford explained readily.

“Of what?” Now their boss seemed to be intrigued. Good sign. Maybe Bill was not dreaming after all.

“Themselves.” More explanation. Maybe Holden should try to be a little less abstract and vague, it would help the situation a lot.

“Whoselves?!” The confusion on the old man’s voice proved Bill’s point.

“Then we know what we're talking about when we speak to other law enforcement.” The boy said instead of answering the question, not before casting a quick glance at Bill in search for reassurance.

“Can you make him shut up?” Shepard’s sudden change of mood was strikingly familiar to Bill, who actually began to feel some sympathy towards his superior. He had been there too. The sentiment behind the words was absolutely genuine and something like desperation tinged the man’s voice and eyes.

“I have not been able to, sir.” Bill replied honestly, a little bit of repressed frustration permeating his voice. “How do we get ahead of crazy if we don't know how crazy thinks?” He asked finally and was impressed with his own ability to make the statement very simple and very strong at the same time. It seemed to have had an effect on their boss, because he changed his guarded posture to a more pensive one, propping his elbows on his legs and staying silently in reflexion for a long moment. Then he closed his eyes briefly, a pained expression crossing his face as if the decision he had made had physically hurt him.

“I like you, Bill. I don't particularly like him, but I like you.” He started again with a defeated voice. “Okay, you may continue with your little sideshow. However, no one can know about it. Clear?” He finally conceded, albeit warningly. Bill nodded respectfully. If it had been difficult for him to make the jump and he was far more open-minded than the great majority of his colleagues, he could only imagine how hard it was for a man like Shepard to do it. “You will relocate yourselves to the basement beneath Behavioral Sciences, reporting directly and exclusively to me.” He added in the end, matter-of-factly, and the excitement that had begun to build up in Bill’s gut evaporated into thin air. He frowned.

“The basement? I'm 44 years old.” He began, but before he could protest further, he felt the familiar weight of Holden’s hand over his shoulder. It was feather-like, just like the other time, but it spoke volumes about the boy’s feelings. He was begging Bill to leave it be.

“You may dedicate ten hours of your 50-hour work week to this. If I deem any aspect of it to be unwarranted, unnecessary, or unsavory, I will end it. Do you both understand?” Shepard’s explanation had been throughout and Bill didn’t like it in the least. He could feel the crinkles in his forehead caused by a dissatisfaction that he didn’t even try to hide.

“Yes.” Holden spoke for him and he, on the other hand, seem to be perfectly satisfied. He stepped closer to his partner, placing his hand more firmly on the man’s other shoulder this time, pressing the whole length of his arm across Bill’s back. It seemed comforting, but it was actually his way to keep the man in check. The fact that it actually worked was enough to rile Bill up even more. From this close, he could practically feel Holden’s anxiety. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for the boy, one he probably doubted he would ever get, and Bill felt powerless against it. He just couldn’t let him down. “And thank you, sir.” Holden continued, patting Bill’s shoulder in a discrete gesture of gratitude. There was more respect in his voice than the older man had ever heard.

“Thank you, sir.” He repeated meekly, completely giving up.

As they turned around to leave, Holden’s touch on his back lingered for a second too long. It felt a lot like he was hanging on to his rock, to use a metaphor Bill had thought about a long time ago. Despite all of his bravado, the boy must have got quite the fright back there when he was faced with ‘the barrel’. As soon as they were out of Shepard’s sight, Bill shot a pointed look at the junior agent that was as clear as if he had said ‘you better make this worth it’.

 

\---x---

 

With no little amount of displeasure, Bill pressed the ‘LL’ button on the elevator’s panel. They had gone back to their respective offices to get their stuff and were now heading down (way, way down) to their new workplace. Still unhappy with this outcome, the grizzled man held tightly to his box and leaned defeatedly against the back of the transporting device. Despite how big the damn thing was, he ended up with his left arm pressed against Holden’s right one. Through the contact, he could feel Holden’s chest heave with poorly contained excitement and even without looking, he was certain that there was a smile creeping its way onto the boy’s face. He readjusted himself in order to find a comfortable position for the long ride and bumped against the other lightly. Despite the apparent inconvenience of the proximity, he didn’t bother to move away and neither did the other man, so they just stood like that, silently huddled far more close than needed as the lights in the panel flickered to inform them about their current location inside of the building, floor-wise.

Soon enough Bill realized that it was better to put his things on the floor, otherwise his arms would be unnecessarily tired by the time they reached their destination. He leaned back again, even more close to Holden than before, their whole upper bodies’ sides flushed together. He turned to look at the younger man and saw his expression shift into something similar to disappointment as realization about the reality of their situation sunk in more deeply at each passing second. Sensing his stare, the boy also turned to look at him, eyebrows raising as he found the ‘do you get it now?’ expression on his partner’s face.

When they finally got to the basement, it became clear that the kid had never been there before. At each corner they turned, the surprise in his eyes as he looked around to analyze their surroundings increased. At each corner the brown orbs were also filled with hope that it would be the last one, only to deflate as Bill kept walking without stopping at any door. After wandering in that goddamn maze for a while, the older agent finally spotted their door and walked firmly towards it, putting his things on the ground again in order get the keys from his pocket and open the old lock securing it shut.

The inside of the room was pitch black, as expected from a place who was actually underground and had no openings for light to come in. Holden was the one to flick the switch that turned on the artificial illumination and the mess in there was what Bill had expected. It didn’t make it less depressing, though. They stayed still for a long while, almost in denial of the fact that they had to deal with that. In sync, they turned to look at each other at the same time - it was becoming a habit, those shared meaningful looks that made words dispensable - and sighed heavily. Whether they liked it or not, that was their place now.

 

\---x---

 

In a bolt of determination, Holden took the lead and stepped inside, looking at the amount of garbage there as if it could bite him. The older man soon followed him, resigned. The boy was still holding onto the box with his stuff as if he needed something to occupy himself with. Bill, on the other hand, deemed himself far too old for unnecessary heavy lifting and was quick to find an available surface to drop his things off. As he all but threw them over an old table only half covered with all sorts of unusable things, a cloud of dust rose up and spread through the place. He coughed heavily, covering his nose with his sleeve.

“Peachy.” He whispered dryly, turning around to give Holden one of those ‘this is all your fault’ looks. The boy shrugged a little in a somewhat sheepish ‘i am sorry’ gesture. Bill felt like growling, but kept the urge under control.

“I…” The younger trailed off, unsure, still looking wildly from the left to the right. He got lost in thought for a brief second and finally continued. “I have no idea where to begin with this.” He stated with the honesty inherent to his personality.

“Well, you can let go of the box, for instance.” Bill pointed out, raising one skeptic eyebrow. “You’re holding onto it like it is your own life.”

“It sort of is.” Holden breathed out, anxiety beginning to get the better of him.

“Calm down kid. It’s not the end of the world.” Bill reassured and suddenly realized that their roles were reversed. Holden was the one to drag them into this mess, he should be the one doing the comforting and not the other way around.

“Yes, yes I know.” He closed his eyes and tried to level his breathing. Finally, he put the box in the ground carefully, apparently not able to choose a place for it. Big decision right there. When his limbs were finally free, he turned around to face his senior agent and something seemed to have changed in his eyes. “I know I sound like a broken record Bill, but I have to say it. Thank you. For what you did back there. You didn’t have to.” He said and his voice was soft in a way that Bill had come to understand that was sentimental. Then it hit Bill like a blow, the fact that they were alone down there. And not only alone, but secluded from the world and any prying eyes. It was a place that belonged to them only. For God knows many days, months, years even… It would be just him and Holden, down in that room. And for reasons that he wouldn’t dare to look too much into, that thought made him incredibly nervous.

“You better be grateful.” He joked dismissively, turning around to assess the place and see if he could come up with a plan to turn that shithole into an at least acceptable office.

“I’m serious, Bill.” The boy insisted, voice almost begging him to not just wave this off. It seemed important to him. “You put your neck in the line out there, for me-!” He came to an abrupt stop, as if he had realized something. “For us.” He corrected himself quickly, probably remembering the previous day’s conversation. The choice of words made Bill uncomfortable, because they sounded far deeper than a mere work-related thing and in a way, they were right on the spot.

“You make it sound personal. It’s our job. It’s important.” He spoke, making an extra effort to sound emotionally detached, even though he knew that he was lying through his teeth. Truth was that Holden had brought something into his life that had been missing for a long time. Both his ideas and his personality carried a fire and a passion that had set Bill’s still and dull life into motion again. In his 44 years of life, he couldn’t remember meeting someone like that or having his life thrown for a loop by a single individual. Not even his wife compared in that sense. And that was something he wasn’t willing to admit, he wasn’t willing to understand, and he wasn’t willing to let go either. It couldn’t get more personal than that.

“It is personal, Bill.” Holden interjected firmly. “You were willing to look past your initial prejudices and your feelings about what I was doing and try to understand this. Understand me. It is more than anyone has ever done, you know? I cannot imagine someone else doing this. And I cannot imagine doing this with anyone else. I don’t even know if I want to.” He continued and his words definitely didn’t sound work related at all. Bill gave a hard and dry swallow. Was the boy doing this on purpose? Choosing those ambiguous words that could be interpreted in far too many different ways?

“Don’t be a sap, Holden. You are you. You would have found your way, anyway.” Bill asserted, forcing an annoyed expression onto his face as he turned his back to the younger man, pretending to be casually analyzing another corner of the room.

“Maybe, yeah. But I’m glad that I’ve found you.” Holden whispered as if he was talking to no one in particular. The older man took the opportunity offered by the tone to simply ignore the words altogether with the slight quickening of his pulse and the way the hair in the back of his neck stood up as if he had been electrified.

“Well, let's get to work.” He exclaimed, heading for the farthest part of the room to put as much distance between himself and the boy as possible. That bunny might not have sharp fangs or strong claws, but even still he posed a greater danger to the old tired fox than any big predator could. Maybe he was not so dumb after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm really afraid that I've made the added scenes be a bit out of character. What do you guys think?


End file.
